


The White Fox

by lamitzvah



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, they're foxes, vaguely japanese au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamitzvah/pseuds/lamitzvah
Summary: Kean is a prostitute at a fancy brothel. He doesn't like or dislike it; it's just the way things are. But when a mysterious and alluring exorcist gets called in to deal with the brothel's ghost problem, Kean finds himself fascinated. For once in his life, he wants something strongly enough to awaken from his apathy. But is wanting a thing enough? Or will he have to take matters into his own hands?





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a white fox in the lobby.

I’m watching him from the second balcony. Madam is offering him tea, wine, his choice of companion. But, laughing, the fox refuses them all.

“Just show me to the ghost,” he says, his voice like a calm, musical stream of water.

As Madam shows him up the stairs, I follow them at a careful distance. I am small, and quiet, and no one notices me sneaking up the forbidden staircase.

“I’ll take it from here, thank you,” I hear him say, somewhere ahead and above me. I slink into an alcove with a potted orchid, tucking my tail around my feet to avoid that telltale flash of white.

You see, I am also a white fox. And until today, I had never seen nor heard of another of my kind.

I wait for Madam to return downstairs, her _geta_  muffled on the carpet.

It’s now or never… Quietly, I sneak the rest of the way up the stairs and turn down the hall where I think I heard the fox’s voice. As I get closer, I begin to feel a charge in the air, like magic. Or ghosts.

Just as I reach it the last door on the hall bursts open with an unholy wind, blue light streaming from inside the room. I hear the fox’s voice, lifted in some sort of incantation.

_Oh_. He’s an exorcist. I should have figured that out already.

I’ve been kind of preoccupied trying to get a better look at him.

The wind dies down, and the blue light fades. I dare to peek into the room, just as the fox turns to leave.

“Oh!” he exclaims, stopping just short of bumping into me. “ _Oh_ , hello. Haven’t seen one of our kind in, gosh, ages!”

Up close, he’s… beautiful. His features are soft, not as pointed as mine. And he has lovely dark skin, and clear violet eyes that send shivers down my spine.

He’s looking at me just as curiously, a small, pleased smile on his face. His lips look _so_  soft, so perfectly, delicately formed… “My name is Asra. What’s yours?”

I glance up into his eyes again, startled. I… haven’t spoken in years. No one cares what a whore has to say. But suddenly, I want more than anything to tell him my name…!

“Kean!” someone barks. I jump, guilty, my tail curling under. “Leave the exorcist alone.”

“Oh, he’s not a bother,” Asra the exorcist says, smiling, his hand reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. It’s the first time he’s touched me, and my entire focus shoots to that one point of contact. “It’s so rare to see another white fox, I think we were both a little enraptured.” His voice is so… _warm_.

“He’s not supposed to be up here,” the voice- Balthasar- grumbles.

“Actually,” Asra says, as if Balthasar had asked him a question, “a cup of tea sounds wonderful. Could I have Kean here attend to me?”

My heart immediately starts racing. I’ve never had such a lovely client before. I think I… I think I _want_  to bed him.

Still grumbling, Balthasar leads us back downstairs and into one of the private tea rooms. I get started on the tea as Asra makes himself comfortable on the pillows.

“You don’t really have to attend me,” he says, smiling. “I just wanted to get you alone.”

I almost drop the teapot. Gingerly, I set it back down and wipe my hands off, unaccountably nervous. We’re not _really_  supposed to get _too_  frisky with clients in the tea rooms, but maybe, if I’m quiet enough…

Head down, I shuffle over to his side and kneel beside him, chancing a glance up at him through my lashes. He’s looking at me, smiling a smile so soft, so tender, it turns my insides to mush.

No one has ever looked at me that way.

I know I should wait for him to make the first move, but he’s just _looking_ at me, and I… can’t bear it. His robe is soft under my hand as I place it carefully on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my hand…! I lean closer, tilting my head up until I can touch my lips gently to his.

He takes a startled breath and breaks the kiss, his hand closing over mine to remove it from his person. “No,” he says, softly, blushing a fascinating red. “That’s… not why I brought you here. I just… thought we could talk, a little.” He laughs, leaning away from me as if embarrassed. 

His ears are swiveled back. Agitated. I’ve never known another fox, but… that’s what it would mean, on me. Since I don’t think he’s _afraid_  of me.

Still, I… didn’t do what he wanted me to do.

Embarrassed, I back off and sit farther away from him, staring down at my knees.

I hear him sigh. “I’m sorry… I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I? Can we… start over?”

His tone is so hopeful. I glance up at him, just a little. He’s still a little red, but his ears are perked towards me, and his expression is earnest.

He really just wants to… talk?

The one thing I can’t give him.

I’m… _upset_. I bow low over my knees until my hands and my head touch the _tatami_. I can’t even tell him I’m sorry.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “It’s okay. Won’t you come back over here?”

I don’t move.

“You were curious about me, weren’t you?” he wheedles. “Do you want to sniff me? I bet you haven’t smelled another fox in a long time.”

I’ve _never_  smelled another fox. I’m… _desperately_  curious. I sit up, cautiously. He smiles encouragingly at me and rearranges the pillows beside him invitingly.

I’m still nervous, and embarrassed, but he pats the pillows, giving me an almost saucy look that seems to say, ‘Don’t you wanna?’

Hesitantly, I crawl over to him. He makes a soft noise of approval as I kneel on the pillow he set out for me, the one closest to him.

“You are so lovely,” he says to me, stroking my hair back from my face. “You must hear that all the time.”

Sometimes. But I like hearing it from him more. I turn my face into his hand, blushing. He strokes my eyebrow, my cheekbone. I close my eyes, hardly daring to breathe.

“Like blood in the snow,” he says, softly, as I open my eyes again.

He’s so close to me, and his eyes gaze upon me in wonder. I want to kiss him, more than anything! But I know he doesn’t want me to.

But he _did_  say I could sniff him…

I lean closer to him, slowly, so he knows I’m not trying anything. He tilts his head in invitation and I tuck my face into his neck, blushing hard, too excited to even slow down for a proper breath. But he waits, and his hand lands on my shoulder, gently holding me against him and rubbing circles against my _kimono_.

Gradually I calm down and breath normally, and then deeply, pressing my nose against the skin just before his hairline. His scent fills my nose and mouth, complex and spicy, like incense, or mulling herbs. And underneath that, an earthy smell of fur and wild things that stirs my belly and has me pressing closer to him, breathing him in like I can get high on his pheromones.

He’s breathing faster, too. I can… I can _smell_  his arousal, oh, god, he smells like heaven and sex and mysterious places.

“Well?” he says, slightly breathless, gently tugging me away from his neck so he can look at me. He’s definitely blushing. “What do you think?”

What do I think of his incredible smell? I touch his face, his lips, watch his eyes widen, his blush deepen as he looks at me. I don’t know what I look like right now, but whatever he sees is making his pupils dilate and his breath come faster.

I bring my face up to his, my hand holding him in place. I can feel his breaths against my lips, and I’m _aching_  to kiss him.

But he told me not to.

I touch my forehead to his instead, nosing closer almost without meaning to. I can hear his breath shuddering out, feel his hands suddenly on my face. But he doesn’t push me away. He slides his hands into my hair, holding onto me and pressing his forehead firmer against mine.

His scent surrounds me, his heartbeat a faint echo of mine. Does he want me as much as I want him? Can he feel my heart reaching out to him? It beats like a drum, crying out voicelessly, _I want you, I want you, I want you!_

I think I have to kiss him- even though he told me not to- even though he might get angry- but he’s holding me so tightly I can’t even move my head.

_ Kssshhhhk. _

We jump apart.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” Madam herself giggles. “As a thank you for your work for us, I’d be happy to prepare a room for you two. On the house.”

I try to implore Asra with my eyes, but he looks away from me. “You are most generous, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Just let me know if you change your mind.” She smiles benevolently at us as she backs out and slides the door shut again.

Sighing, Asra rubs his face. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

Go…?

I reach out and grab his sleeve, struck by a nameless panic that sweeps away both propriety and my dignity.

_Don’t go…!_  I try to tell him with my eyes, my face, my hands clutching his robes. I think I’ll die if he leaves, if I never get to see him again…!

“Oh!” he says, as tears begin to gather in my eyes. I can’t stop them, can’t stop the utter terror I’m feeling at the thought of being separated from him. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he says, rubbing his hands over my arms, gently wiping up my tears before they can fall. “Deep breaths. I’m right here.”

_Don’t go!_  I sniffle, leaning my weight into him, wrapping my arms around him so he can’t get away.

“I won’t leave you,” he says, softly, gathering me against his chest and holding me tightly.

The hand squeezing my heart loosens, just enough that I can suck in several deep, shaky breaths of air.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, stroking my back, tucking his head down against mine. I close my eyes and just hold him, feeling his warmth, his scent suffusing me. Grounding me. “You’re okay,” he says into my hair.

When I’ve calmed down enough, I look up into his eyes, searching for answers to questions I cannot voice.

He speaks them for me. “Do you want to leave this place? With me?”

_Yes!_  I nod, frantically, and he smiles, cupping my face in his hands.

“I’ll have to sneak you out,” he says, with a hint of mischief in his eye. “A don’t-notice should do the trick.”

He closes his eyes, and his hands grow cool on my face. A sudden breeze ruffles through his hair, and mine, gone as quickly and inexplicably as it appeared.

“There.” Letting go of my face, he smiles at me and takes my hands. “Are you ready? Do you need to grab anything?”

I think of my meagre possessions and shake my head, curling my fingers around his. I won’t lose this chance just because I wanted to keep one or two useless trinkets.

We get to our feet and he leads me by the hand back out into the hallway where we left our footwear. My _geta_  look flashy next to his plain sandals, but he smiles at me and I forget why I cared about anything else.

“Try not to look at anyone too closely and they shouldn’t notice you,” he says as we near the lobby.

I clutch his hand, terrified that I’ll get caught, terrified that this is all a fever dream, too good to be true.

“Thank you again!” Madame calls out as Asra hustles me to the door. I hear her _geta_  clicking on the tiles, following us. “You’re always welcome here!”

“Farewell!” Asra calls back, nudging me in front of him out the door. I stagger, blinded by the sun, but Asra leads me carefully up into a waiting carriage. “Straight home,” he says to the driver before getting in after me.

“Phew!” he says, stretching out his arms and smiling at me. “So far so good.”

He laughs when I plaster myself to his side and tucks his arm around me. I’ve left the tea house a few times, but it’s always overwhelming being outside, with all the _people_  and the bright sunlight stabbing into my sensitive eyes.

Inside the carriage it is blissfully dark and cool, with just a narrow sliver between the curtain and the door that I can look out of. I see colors and shapes I can barely make heads or tails of, and snatches of voices, talking, bartering, occasional music.

Asra is a warm, steady presence at my side. Undemanding. He watches with me as the world goes by outside, not commenting or trying to fill the silence. Just observing.

The carriage turns onto a quieter street, and soon the only sound I can hear is the clopping of the horse’s hooves.

“Ah,” Asra says as the carriage rocks to a halt. “We’re home.”

He gets out first and helps me down. I look around, drinking in the trees, the buildings, the sky, clear and blue.

Asra hands the driver a small collection of feathers and animal bones, and horse and driver clop away. He waits by a doorway as I take it all in, watching me with a soft smile.

When I go to his side, he waves his hand over the door and a white symbol appears and disappears quickly on the wood surface. Then the door creaks open.

“Welcome home,” Asra says, his words filling me with an unnamable warmth. “The downstairs is mostly my shop,” he says, following me inside. “Upstairs are the living quarters.”

_Wow…!_  I gaze around in wonder at all the weird items jumbled up together on shelves and in baskets. I’m not sure how anyone finds what they’re looking for, but I suppose if you have magic, you could just ask the air where to find the items you need.

“You like them?” he asks, watching me lean over a basket of shiny rocks. “I gathered those at the volcano’s edge.”

Volcano’s edge? I return to his side, and he smiles as I tuck my hand back into his.

“Let me show you where we sleep. We can always come back down whenever you want.”

I follow him up a narrow staircase into what appears to be a small attic. Though small, the room is lovingly decorated with tapestries, candles, a multitude of pillows in all sizes and colors, and various other bits and bobs that Asra collected.

It’s… cozy, and it smells like him.

I gravitate towards the bed, an inviting nest of blankets and pillows. I burrow inside until only my head is exposed and close my eyes peacefully.

Asra laughs softly, and the bed dips as he sits down. “Naptime already?”

I nod and blink up at him, inexplicably sleepy. He smiles and strokes my hair, and I close my eyes again.

“Sweet dreams,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

I awaken to find Asra curled up next to me, his body turned towards me like he was reaching for me in his sleep.

I can’t help but marvel at his face. The gods who created him must have loved him dearly, painstakingly crafting him out of nothing. He looks even softer in sleep, his white eyelashes fluttering in dreams, stark against his warm skin.

Not like mine, white on white. Like a ghost.

A ghost with creepy red eyes…

He seemed to like them, at least. ‘Like blood on snow,’ he’d said.

My hand stretches out towards his face completely on its own. I trace his features, careful not to touch him. I wish I was a painter, and could capture his beauty on canvas. But even then I think no mere brush could do him justice.

My fingers are hovering over his lips when his eyes slowly slide open, sleepy and unfocused.

I take my hand back, heart stuttering.

His eyes slide shut again and he stretches with his whole body, making a high-pitched groan that strikes me as incredibly fox-like. Should I be so charmed by that? I suppose I am starved for contact with my own kind.

“Good morning,” he says once he’s relaxed, smiling sleepily at me. “Did you sleep okay?”

I nod, warmed to the core by his gentle gaze. How did I earn this affection so effortlessly? I think he must treat everyone this way, and I’m even more impressed. How he must overflow with kindness, to bestow it so readily.

“I have to make a few housecalls today,” he says, sitting up with a yawn. “You can come with me if you like. Or you can stay here. Your choice.”

I sit up too, and pat his chest. _You_.

He smiles. “You want to come with me?”

I nod.

“I’ll be glad for the company.” He walks to a chest overflowing with fabric and glances back at me. “I’m not sure if my clothes will fit you, but maybe we can make it work for now.” He picks out a few things and tosses them to me on the bed.

His wardrobe is… eclectic. These colors don’t really go together. But they don’t clash _too_  hideously, and they smell like him when I bring them to my nose.

He looks away when I disrobe, his ears blushing pink at the soft white tips. It’s… _adorable_. I shimmy into his clothes, once I figure out which way they go. It doesn’t help that he favors loose, flowy styles. He’s not particularly large as far as men go, but he’s quite a bit taller than me, and his clothes engulf me like I’m a child.

“How is- oh!” He looks at me, grinning reflexively like he’s trying not to laugh. “Here, let me…” He digs out a red scarf and wraps it around my waist, pinning the overlarge shirt to my body and giving me a slightly better shape than ‘pastry puff.’ “How’s that?”

I step over to his mirror, doubtful, but it doesn’t look as bad as I feared. The scarf really helps tie the look together.

The neckline, though… as I watch, one corner of it slips down my shoulder.

But Asra’s blushing again as he tugs my shirt back into place, so maybe I _do_  like it.

“Ah, I know!” he says, darting over to a table covered in beads and crystals. “Here. For protection.” He presents me with a beautiful emerald stone, held up on a leather cord. “May I?”

Blushing, I duck my head so he can put it on me. The stone is warm against my skin, and somehow, it reminds me of him. I couldn’t say how or why, but it fills me with a soothing warmth.

On impulse I hug him, and his laughter shakes my body. “You like it, then?” he asks, squeezing me gently before letting me go. “We’ll get you clothes that fit you better soon.”

I think I wouldn’t mind if we didn’t.

-

The first house we stop at is close enough that we can walk to it. It feels surreal to walk around outside in Asra’s clothes, following him down unfamiliar streets, stealing peeks at him when he’s not looking. The sunlight seems to caress him, dappling his skin and hair, bringing out the bright violet of his eyes.

When we reach the door, Asra knocks politely three times. He smiles at me as we wait. His hair looks so soft. I bet he’d let me touch it.

I bet he likes to be pet.

“Asra! So good of you to come again!” The woman who opens the door has to be at least seventy years old, her face creased in a welcoming smile. “And, oh! Who’s this?”

“This is my assistant, Kean. Kean, Mrs. Lake.” Asra’s hand clasps my shoulder. I give Mrs. Lake a respectful bow.

“Please, come in, come in!” She ushers us inside, closing the door and hobbling along after us with her walking stick. “Help yourselves to tea and cookies!”

She leads us to the sitting room, where a tray of cookies beckon enticingly from a little cart. Asra catches me gazing longingly at them and laughs, nudging me towards the cart. “Go ahead.”

Asra and Mrs. Lake sit down and begin chatting while I surreptitiously stuff my face with cookies. I’m not used to an _unlimited supply_  of cookies. At the tea house, if I was lucky enough to have pleased someone, I might get a sweet here or there.

Since they seem occupied catching up- I guess Asra comes here often?- I wander into the hallway, savoring my last cookie.

This place is _fancy_. Gilded picture frames, gold everywhere, delicate vases that I’m sure would shatter if I happened to breathe upon them.

I hate houses like this. If you have that much money, why not do something useful with it? Like… leave a working boy a really big tip? I always liked widows for that reason.

But besides the ostentatious display of wealth, the house feels… empty. Uncomfortably so. Like it’s...  _missing_  something.

I try to shake the feeling, doubling back towards where I think the sitting room is. But when I turn the corner, I find a huge ballroom gathering dust. I peek in, sneeze, and back out, trying a different hallway. This time I find the kitchens, empty but for me and some rats.

Rats?

I take a step into the kitchen and pause, not sure if I want to go any further. There’s a faint smell of rotting food. I think… I think I can imagine what I might find in here.

When I find myself in the drawing room, I sigh and plop down into a chair. I should have left myself a trail of cookie crumbs.

“...Hello?”

I look up. And then around. No one’s in here but me.

“Is anyone there?”

The voice sounds young, really young. I clear my throat, try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is air.

“Kean! There you are.”

Asra’s in the doorway. I wave him over and gesture around the room.

“What-”

“ _Shhh_.”

He closes his mouth, puts on his listening face. But the voice is quiet now.

Getting up from the chair, I strain my ears to hear anything out of the ordinary. I press up against the nearest wall, listening hard.

I can’t exactly _hear_  anything, and yet…

I glance at Asra, and he comes up next to me. “In here?” He lays his palm against the wall and closes his eyes. Barely a second later he’s gasping and opening them again. “She’s in here.”

She?

Asra feels along the wall, knocking at seemingly random intervals. I watch him, confused. Is someone going to open the wall for him? But then he knocks again, and it echoes.

He flashes me a triumphant look. “It’s hollow.”

I wonder how he would react if I told him how attractive I find him.

“Hello?” he says to the wall. “Can you hear me?”

“...H-hello?”

He looks at me again, as if he just has to share his excitement with someone. “It’s safe now. You can come out.”

I get the impression of pouting. “No, I can’t.”

“Are you stuck in there?” Asra feels along the wall again, but it appears to be solid. “How do we get in?”

“Mother bricked it over,” the voice says. “I saw it. She said she would let me out when I’d been good. Have I been good yet?”

Asra stares at the wall, stricken.

The girl’s voice rises in a wail. “ _Have I been good yet?_ ”

“Yes!” Asra leans his forehead against the wall. “You’ve been so good. Your mother sent me to let you out. Are you ready to come out?”

The girl sniffles. “I don’t know how.”

“Just follow my voice. My friend and I are waiting here for you.”

“A friend…?”

Asra backs up and crouches down, holding his arms out like he’s trying to draw her out. “Would you like to be friends too?”

“Yes!”

All at once a ghostly light in the shape of a small girl leaps out of the wall and runs straight into Asra’s arms.

She looks at me, and smiles.

Then she fades away.

Asra remains crouched there, his arms embracing the air. But his ears are twitching wildly, this way and that way, as if trying to locate a sound.

Or… simply gone haywire from an unbearable emotion.

I get onto my knees and duck under Asra’s arms, taking the girl’s place and hugging him tightly. He gasps, a thick, choked sound, and buries his face in my hair, his whole body shaking.

-

“We found your ghost,” Asra says, his voice soft and flat.

Mrs. Lake looks up from her tea, surprised. “Oh, you did? I thought I was going crazy.” She laughs.

I can’t help but wonder who the ghost girl’s mother was. I think Asra is wondering that too.

He’s silent as she pays us, and refuses her offers of more tea, more cookies. We’re almost at the door when he stops.

“Actually,” he says, “I’d like to tear down one of your walls. Do you mind?”

Mrs. Lake blinks wide eyes. “Whatever for?”

“There’s… a girl’s body in your drawing room, inside the wall. I’d like to see her buried properly.”

Mrs. Lake’s mouth falls open. After a tense minute, she says, “How ghastly. Please, by all means, tear it down.”

I can’t tell if she’s sincere or just hoping we won’t suspect her. Asra doesn’t seem to care either way. He heads back to the drawing room without another word, and I almost have to run to keep up with him.

He takes a deep breath when we’re alone in the drawing room and tries to smile at me. “You’d be surprised by the number of bodies I’ve snuck out of people’s homes.”

Then he grabs an ornate gold lamp, and he smashes it against the wall.

-

When we finally leave Mrs. Lake’s soulless mansion, Asra is uncharacteristically drawn and I’m carrying a bag full of bones in my arms like a baby.

The carriage ride to the cemetery is silent. Asra’s face is full of such a deep sadness I can’t help but feel utterly useless. I scoot closer to him, until our sides are touching. He blinks as if awakening from a trance and smiles at me, tired and wan.

“Thank you for finding her,” he says, and presses a kiss to my temple. “I’ve been to that house so many times, and yet I never…”

His voice is heavy with guilt. I lean up to kiss his cheek, try to tell him with my eyes that everything is better now.

“She’s happy now, huh?” he says, softly, smiling as I nod emphatically. His eyes redden and he looks away, wiping up his tears before they can fall. “Ah, here we are.” He sweeps back the curtain and clambers down out of the carriage like he’s trying to run away from his own feelings.

I get down more carefully, still cradling the bones in my arms. Asra helps me down the steps, and leaves his arm around my shoulders as we enter the cemetery.

The gravekeeper, a stooped old man with a strangely grinning face, meets us halfway down an aisle of imposing stone monuments.

“Asra!” he rasps. “New resident for your collection, I see?”

“Yes,” Asra says. “I’d like a new grave dug next to the others, if you please.”

“Of course, of course.” The gravekeeper shuffles ahead of us. We follow him to a quiet hill, past the monuments and regular gravestones. The graves here are small, marked by wooden signs with only a name and a phrase, and sometimes only one or the other.

Asra leads me over to a bench as the gravekeeper grabs a shovel and starts digging. “My pile should still be over here… ah!” Asra retrieves a blank cross from under a tarp at the foot of a tree. He sets that next to me, and produces a brush and ink set from his bag. He dips the brush, then pauses, turning to me with wide, haunted eyes. “I didn’t ask her name.”

I watch, helpless as his eyes start to fill with tears.

“ _Greta_ ,” a little voice whispers to me. I glance at the bag in my arms. Could it be…?

I set the bones down on the bench, carefully, and take the brush out of Asra’s limp fingers. With bold strokes, I write, “Greta,” on the cross.

Asra sniffs as he looks down at my handiwork. “Is that…? She told you her name?”

I nod, and my chest eases as he sighs, his face relaxing. “Good, that’s… good.”

The gravekeeper looms suddenly over my shoulder. “Greta, ey? Small bag… little girl, was it? ‘Beloved daughter’ is what they all say, isn’t it?” Chortling, he wanders off, muttering something about worms.

“‘Beloved daughter’…” Asra repeats.

Then he bursts into tears.

I dip the brush again and write, “beloved friend,” under Greta’s name. But Asra is crying too hard to see it. I set the cross on top of the bones and sit next to him, wrapping my arm around his back and pulling him against me. He turns his face into my shoulder, his breath hitching as he struggles to calm down.

I stroke his back, resting my chin on his head and staring out over the graveyard. I can’t imagine what a toll a job like this must take on someone as gentle as Asra.

Gradually he calms, but remains in my embrace.

I imagine it’s a lonely job, as well. Providing comfort, but never receiving it.

He sits back at last, wiping his eyes and laughing a little. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, and here you are taking care of me.”

I reach out to cup his face, and he holds still so I can kiss his forehead. Blushing, he smiles at me from under his lashes, his eyes wet and shining with tears. I stroke his cheek, gently, before letting him go.

I hand him my sign and he gazes down at it for a long minute. “‘Beloved friend.’ She’d like that.”

I nod and squeeze his hand encouragingly. He sighs.

“At least someone cried for her, right?” He wipes his eyes again and gets to his feet. “Alright. It’s time.”

I gather Greta’s bones into my arms again and place them gently at the bottom of the small, freshly dug hole. Asra kneels next to me and together we push the dirt back in, patting it down when we’re done. Asra sticks the sign up at the head of the mound and leans his weight down on it.

He helps me to my feet and brushes dirt off of me. Both of our hands are a lost cause, but he takes mine in his anyway, rubbing some of the softer dirt off.

“I swear I’m not _usually_  covered in grave dirt,” he murmurs. “I bet you’ll _really_ want to stick around after this.”

I just squeeze his hands.

We walk hand in hand out of the cemetery and hail a carriage. Inside, he slumps against my side and sighs. “What a day, huh? And we still have another appointment tonight.”

I want to stroke his hair, but my hand is all dirty. But then he leans his head on my shoulder, and I can just reach him with my nose.

He laces his fingers with mine. I try to tell my heart not to get excited, but it never listens to me.

“It’s funny,” he says, softly. “I feel like you’ve always been here, by my side. But we only met yesterday. Can you believe that?”

I don’t know how to answer him. It all feels very _new_  to me. New, and exciting, if also unexpectedly emotional. But _satisfying_. We did good today. We made a friend and ended her long years of loneliness.

Kind of like Asra coming into my life and ending _my_  long years of loneliness.

I press a kiss into Asra’s hair and he makes a soft noise of contentment.

I can only hope I do the same for him.


End file.
